Breathless
by Red-Wild
Summary: The autobiography of a remorseful killer, based in valenwood but may spread to other regions as story progresses, any reviews would be greatly appreciated as it is my first piece of work on the site.
1. Chapter 1

Breathless

1.

My name isn't very important.

There.

I have started the story of my life with a depressing line,

I can't really say that I am too proud of myself, I did after all promise silently to the piece of parchment in front of me that I would try to keep it in until at least halfway through our little story,

It wasn't meant to be I suppose.

Like So Many things....

So let's begin, although I'm afraid that we no longer have the time to finish.

I was born in the village of Rawn-Griff, a small circle of land that was east of the Bosmeri city of Elder Root. It was the twelfth of Sun's dusk and it was a story that my father would tell me many times after my birth. "It's a shame that you can't remember Aengoth" He would croak, his voice hoarse and jagged like a sheet of rusted iron, "It was an unnatural night it was, the rain poured from the sky, and the wind. Oh the wind shook so hard against the trees that we feared they would be ripped from the ground by the roots!" It would be then that the look would appear in his eyes, a look that was so... helpless, like an infant who saw Y'ffre himself and didn't know what to do. "Such a night it was Aengoth, that if your mother" And then he stopped, his mouth closed and my head turned away. She went with the gods when I was born and that was how it was supposed to be. Such thought of longing, or loneliness were just weak. That was how we were thought, how little we knew.

It wasn't long after that night that the village shaman realised that there was something different about me. Well I was different in the first place I suppose, seeing as I was the only son of the chieftain, But I suppose there had to have been something else, there always is.

He discovered, to the surprise of the village that I had almost unnatural; reserves of magicka, but I also lacked the ability to regenerate it by myself, I later learned that I was born under a unique sign, the sign of the atronach. A blessing and a curse I suppose but I didn't really look to deeply into it at the time, I was, after all only 9 summers old at the time.

That's my first memory of my childhood; my second however is not very pleasant.

I want you do something for me first.

Imagine that you know me, or better yet imagine me as you.

I am on my 14 summer, and I am running through the thick, overgrowth that surrounds Rawn-Griff, I have a bow in my hand, the finest yew, and I'm on the hunt, leaping and plunging to the waves and cracks of the ancient trees around me.

Below me, I see a deer, its fur a rusty red and a pair of unblinking black eyes as it nibbles delicately on a stray leaf. My feet are widely apart from each other as I stick my tongue out between my teeth.

I lick my lips.

The twang of my arrow leaping from the bow flied quickly into the deer's side. It let out a screech and ran, using its little strength to bolt between the leaves.

I follow her, my feet making a pound as they hit the woodland floor and I pushed myself towards my prize.

I stop, Horror grips me.

Before me lies a fellow Bosmer, His right arm buckled at an awkward angle, his left bent in a way as if he was reaching for the broken bow that was strewn over his back. His mouth open in a way that they generally shouldn't be, and his eyes? Bloodshot and worn; with a single fly moving across them. His leather armour was torn to shreds, revealing a number of hideous wounds underneath that, no matter how hard I tried, could not look away from. By his feet lay my deer, wheezing slowly, its eyes fluttering with its last bit of strength.

Pulling out my dagger I mercifully drew it across its throat, its last breath dancing against my bare arms. Whispering a small prayer to Y'ffre I flung the deer over my shoulder and began to move back towards the village to tell them of what I just saw.

It was the first time that I ever saw a dead man, and little did I now that it would not be my last.

[This is my first story so any reviews would be great thanks! ^_^]


	2. Fire And Flight

2.

So where were we?

Ah yes...

I was telling you of my first encounter with a corpse, not a very nice memory mind you.

But would it surprise you if I told you that those were the only memories of my childhood that I have left?

Probably not, my kind lives very long and when we live such long lives our childhood- our earliest memories diminish surprisingly quickly.

Which is a shame, because when some of us elves become assassin, it doesn't take long for us to realise that our childhood was the only real time that we were happy, that we were safe. A childhood that quickly vanishes from the records of our minds, and I find that very unfair.

I heard the thump of a fist against a wooden table. The tribe was in our house, seeing as it was the largest in the village and it was where the chieftain-father resided. The man who did the thumping was in fact my uncle, Thaden Peragon, with a round red face from too much meat and rivalries; his eyes were bright under the darkness inside our windowless hut.

"We need to do something Thoronir!" He growled, addressing my father. My father turned to Pother Waek, "Where you able to identify the makings of the wound?" He asked. Pother Waek, The mer who, so long ago deemed that my magicka was unnatural and that if we did not kill me in my first few days then I would destroy the village, stroked his white beard carefully, his fingers, like claws tracing through the delicate braids that he had tied in them."The wounds are....unusual..." He croaked. That meant he didn't know. Of course he wouldn't admit that.

"Unusual?" Uncle Thaden whispered, his fat face aglow with fear, "w...w...what do you mean?" He whispered, the hut was quiet, but even then I could feel some eyes dancing over to me, beside my father. No, they weren't really looking at me. They were looking inside me, contempt for my high status, contempt for my magicka, and most of all, contempt for my father, who dared let me live this long. The Pother kept his mouth shut for a moment, his lips pursed together as if he was afraid that they would speak before he could think, "superstitious old fetcher" I growled to myself, My father nudged, a warning in his eyes and I gave a small sigh, as I looked over and waited, along with the rest of the tribe to hear the old crow speak.

Pother Waek took a deep breath "I believe that the wounds were caused by something large.... and heavy... Its claws cut through the rangers armour with a single strike, indicating that they were stronger then steel.... it may have been.... a daedra"

I didn't breath; I don't think anyone dared to. The silence that gave way let me listen outside, to the trees that creaked in the wind. My father used to tell me that the trees were on Nirn since before time began, that they were wise and true and that if I ever needed help, I could whisper to the leaves that fell around my toes when the wind blew through them. It was a story of course, pure nonsense, But it made me wonder, on that moment that if I walked out of this hut now, climbed the trees and closed my eyes and talked to them, would they talk back?, would they possibly now just what was happening in our lands?

The tribe was no stranger to war of course. Rawn-Griff was close to the Elsweyr border, and because of that small detail our tribe helped to fight in the five years war, a war that we fought against the Khajiit. It's not my place to describe the war to you, as I was not there at the time, but it serves as a reminder of what the Bosmer people stand for, always fighting back, but never beginning a war. I was brought out of my thoughts with a thump, "Damn it" Father growled, slamming his fist against the table, He looked over to Pother Waek with a glare. "You told us that we were safe from Oblivion!" He shouted, "I know...but...um..." said Pother Waek, his face going pale. I couldn't help but smile, the old bat was being shown a taste of the real world for once, and I was relishing every second. "This isn't the Pothers fault Thoronir" Uncle Thaden said, spittle coming out with each word. He looked at me, swinging his arm like a spear. "It's the boys" He growled.

I rolled my eyes, here we go...

Fathers face paled, "What are you talking about Thaden?" He spluttered, looking over at me. "Aengoth was the one who found the ranger in the first place! If anything we should be thanking him!" Uncle Thaden's mouth cracked open, his voice alight with laughter "Thanking him? THANKING HIM? Brother, it's this little guttershites fault in the first place! It's that magic in him that's doing it's...it's... unnatural! You should have drowned him the day he was born." I stood up, "Uncle why are you saying these things? I found the body! Why would I want that Bosmer dead?"

"Don't you raise your voice to me! You little...you little freak!" Father opened his mouth to say something, something good I bet with the stern look on his face, but I never got to hear it as a scream pierced the midnight air outside the hut.

I'm sure, dear reader that if I was to ask you about the Oblivion Crisis you would have a lot to say. Maybe you even lived through it, in which case I offer my warmest condolences. Because Through my own bloody history I have learned that everyone strong enough to live through the crisis lost someone dear to them during that horrible year. I of course am no exception. Although strangely enough I have not heard of many accounts of the crisis in Valenwood, so I suppose I'll have to be as accurate as I can.

We left the safety of the cabin to see a large portal that was nearly as high as the trees around us, something out of a nightmare less than 100 yards before the village. Although I have forgotten much of what I saw that horrible night I still remember the heat. The trees that were once beneath the portal were a pile of ash. And the trees that stood around us were alight with a heat that genuinely made me fear hellfire... But of course during that time I honestly thought that it was hellfire that clung sadistically to the trees, bringing up a heat like a thousand fires burning at once. Drowning out the sky with a million shades of smoke.

Within seconds men or what looked like men began to swarm from the flames, wrapped in dark black armour that shook me to my very core. The demons ran with them, tearing apart my family and friends who did not even have time to die with a weapon in their hands."Aengoth, No!" My father shouted as the Daedra danced with him, a cruel ballad of blood and fire.

I thought that I would be dead too if it wasn't for him.

He was a Bosmer, and through the fire I could see every detail that was alight in his calm, almost unnatural face. He stood tall, swinging a pair of swords in his hands, chopping the daedra one by one. I could see surprise light up in his ash grey face as He noticed me, but I did not have time to scream for help as I felt the twisted curve of a short sword run though my body. I turned in horror to see a helmet with a cruel face carved into its front.

"No" I whispered as I closed my eyes and waited to join my father. My thoughts running forever, and made me wonder as I slept on my murderers sword, was my uncle right? Did I cause all of this?


	3. Chapter 3

3.

My senses didn't take long to return to my body.

First I felt the ice cold wind whip across my face, like a dunmer slave driver, as the heavily needled leaves that hung from Valenwoods branches slapped across my cheeks.

Second I noticed the whistle of the wind rush over my ears, I realised that it never stopped going since I fell asleep.

Third was the taste, old leather, and I noticed that my mouth my open as I was holding onto my saviours back. I clamped in shut in disgust and when I did I heard him chuckle.

The smell of the trees that were heavily laden with pollen rushed up my nose and I had grit my teeth to stop myself to tumble into a coughing fit. Something that could risk me letting go of the man's back, and on my list of uncomfortable death, dying half naked, cold and wet on the ground whilst being eaten by wild animals was pretty high on my list.

Finally I gathered enough strength to open my eyes; it wasn't really the strength to open them that was needed, just merely the strength to deal with what I would see once I opened them.

I was greeted by the gentle beams of starlight as they twinkled silently overhead. You know my father always used to say, that when we die the stars become markers for our souls, religion was a very big deal for my father it seemed. I was on top of the Bosmer who fought at the village, his greying black hair that was like bow string against my face. He was jumping, rising with incredible acrobatic skill, even for a fellow bosmer I found it unusual.

I clutched, my fingers going deeper into the leather as we passed another gate. I almost wish you were there to see them. The tears for my family forgotten I looked at the giant portal with raw amazement. I knew the danger that clutched around those things, but still it was hard to fight the temptation. The small niggling sensation like a splinter in my mind, that refused to stay put, forcing me to stare at the gates beauty and wonder what strange and exotic lands lie out just beyond my reach past the magical fire.

The man must have felt me stir because I could feel him slowing down a little bit. "I realise that you have had a very tiring day youngling" He whispered to me, his creaky voice almost drowned in magicka that I could feel charming me."But you need to rest; you will have a very difficult life ahead of you"

I nodded in compliance, my eyes feeling heavy and my legs and arms numb. My senses quickly broke away from the world around me. I smiled towards the darkness that wrapped itself around me, welcoming it like an old friend as the sounds of the daedra swarming the forest became as pleasant and familiar as a mothers kiss.

When I woke up I was greeted by the deep chasm of pain that is known only to those who survived a knife to the gut. With a groan I pushed myself up so that I was sitting. Within minutes and young woman- a redguard came into the room, but it was more like a crypt, with its marble walls and fine wood...and coffins... It was a crypt! I let out a yell as tried to get to the door, the wound stooped me like a net as I fell to the ground with a solid thump.

"This is going to hurt" She whispered as the white light of restorative magic leapt from her fingertips.


End file.
